Target Practice
by Callay
Summary: An unfinished conversation between Knives and Meryl. A short preview for now, sort of a glimpse of where Dark Sun is headed.


"Target Practice" "Target Practice"  
  
  
_*bang!*_  
  
A gunshot rang through the air.  
  
_*clank!*_  
  
Another can flew off the fence, a small hole smoking neatly from its midsection. It landed nearby a scattered pile of similar objects, all bearing the same mark.  
  
"Who---"  
  
_*bang*  
  
*clank*_  
  
"---the hell---"  
  
_*bang*  
  
*clank*_  
  
"---does he think---"  
  
_*bang*  
  
*clank*_  
  
"---he is?!"  
  
_*bang*_  
  
Silence. The lone surviving can provided no insights to her question.  
  
Meryl growled low in her throat, feeling the frustration rising within her again. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to calm down.  
  
Taking careful aim, she lined up the can in her sights, and fired again.  
  
And again. And again.  
  
Giving up with a scream, she threw her gun at the offending piece of metal, knocking it violently off of its post. It hit the dusty ground and tumbled to join its brothers, although it bore a large dent where the bullet hole should have been.  
  
"You shouldn't mistreat your guns like that," a deep voice admonished behind her. "There's no telling when you might need them."  
  
She didn't bother to turn around to face him. He was the second last person she wanted to talk to right now.  
  
"When I need your advice, I'll ask for it," she replied icily.  
  
"I can always expect a warm welcome from you," the speaker noted off-handedly, slowly making his way to the pile of cans. He walked like an old man, hesitant and limping, aided solely by a tall walking staff. However, his face was still clear and unlined, and his body yet young, although it seemed as if it had seen better days.  
  
It would be a long time before he would ever see those days again.  
  
He knelt down carefully and picked up her gun, inspecting it closely before looking over at the impacted can. The gun had hit it severely, crushing one side completely inwards. His mouth twitched as a brief flicker of amusement flashed across his face. "Good shot," he told her, holding out the weapon to her, his blue eyes laughing.  
  
Embarrassed, she approached him and took it, returning it to its proper holster in her cape. "It wasn't cooperating," she said in defense, the reasoning suddenly ridiculous as it left her mouth.  
  
"I'm sure you taught it a lesson," he gravely returned, watching her intently.   
  
Meryl shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, suddenly wishing she had something else to do. He never failed to unnerve her whenever he fixed that piercing stare upon her; it felt as if he were weighing her in his mind, judging her worth.   
  
She was sure she fell short of his expectations.  
  
He stood slowly, managing to put some grace into his movement. She watched him carefully, knowing how much it must have hurt him to exert control over his muscles like that. Feeling guilty for snapping at him earlier, she offered to help him walk back to the house where the others were staying.  
  
"I'm not an invalid yet," he told her sardonically, pushing her hand away.  
  
"You're practically there already," she fired back, glaring at him. "And if you keep straining yourself, you're going to stay that way."  
  
"I didn't know you cared," he replied flippantly, a wry smile tugging at his lips. He moved again, stepping closer to her, causing her to draw away sharply. The smile widened. "But you still don't trust me," he murmured, his voice dropping low to what could only be described as a silky tone. He laughed carelessly, shrugging it aside. "I don't blame you."   
  
Feeling both wary and ashamed, Meryl did not know how to respond. Unconsciously, she touched her hand to her throat, remembering.  
  
  
  
Author's note: This is just a preview. It isn't finished, nor am I sure where it's going, but I thought I might post it up and give people an idea of where I'm taking "Dark Sun," which is sort of an explanation of how "Target Practice" came about(i.e. how Knives stopped being quite so homocidal about humans, or at least was on speaking terms with one of them).  
  
No, I don't know yet where he got the walking staff. I know wood is precious, but I couldn't figure out how else Knives would walk around without having someone constantly helping him.  
  
I honestly like the way this little bit turned out, and I hope I can flesh out "Dark Sun" enough so that I can continue with this story soon.  
  
  
  



End file.
